As Time Goes By
by cherryredxx
Summary: AU. Ten years had gone by since she'd walked back into his life. Ten years since the Dark side had won the war. As time goes by, he realized, not a whole lot changes. - Written for Round 2 of the genres competition on HPFC.


**Genre: **Urban - Urban fiction, also known as Street lit, is a literary genre set, as the name implies, in a city landscape; however, the genre is as much defined by the race and culture of its characters as the urban setting. The tone for urban fiction is usually dark, focusing on the underside.  
**Prompt:** Word of Mouth

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The icy, cold air bit into her. She shivered, despite the warmth of her full-length trench coat. Her long, red locks tumbled down her back gently, the vibrant color contrasting sharply against the white material. She felt unsafe being outside alone; times were dark, and she was all alone. She stumbled into the first place she could find. It was a cozy little establishment off one of the safer avenues in London. The drastic increase in temperature was welcome, as was the cozy atmosphere.

It was a quaint little pub that she had entered. She was surprised at how few patrons were in attendance. Resigning herself to relax for a few minutes before attempting to return home, she took a seat at the bar.

"What'll ya have, doll?" the bartender asked.

"Vodka tonic, if you would."

As the bartender busied himself with fixing her drink, the redhead took a second to glance around the small shop. Including herself, the bartender, and the man playing a tune at the piano, there were a total of seven people in the room. It was quiet and peaceful, but she couldn't help but wonder why it seemed to be so poorly frequented.

The bartender slid her drink down the bar and she caught it easily, bringing it up to her lips immediately to take a sip. Just then, another man, who she had not seen in the pub only moments before, sat down beside her.

She glanced up at him, eyeing him carefully. He was attractive enough – lithe build with blond hair and grey eyes – but she continued to be cautious. "Can I help you, Mister?" she asked, taking her eyes off him at once. If she had learned anything from living in such a cold and hostile world, it was to be careful who you talk to. It was not obvious who was to be trusted, and no matter how handsome a man was, he could still be one of them. One of those men who go around killing people because they're different.

His grey eyes gleamed despite the dim lighting. "I was just wondering what a girl like you was doing in a place like this," he answered. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Reluctantly, she replied, "My name is Ginny. Who're you?"

"Malfoy, and I own this place." He studied her a moment, his piercing eyes almost looking through her rather than at her. "You come here to forget your troubles?"

She nibbled at her bottom lip. "What troubles?" she questioned, although her voice quivered at the obvious lack of conviction. "I'm as happy as I ever could be, Mister."

His handsome face turned hard. "I tend to think otherwise, darlin'. Word of mouth says that no one comes to Shangri La unless they're trying to run away from something."

Ginny lifted her chin defiantly. "Well, I suppose you just know everything, now don't you? I suppose you're certain that coming here means I'm running from something. Well, it doesn't, and I am not." She downed the remainder of her drink in a single gulp before turning toward the bartender. "How much will it be, Mister?"

"It's on the house, darling," Malfoy interjected. "Now, please come and dance with me."

Without understanding why she had agreed so easily to go with him, she put her slender hand in his and allowed him to gently pull her from her seat at the bar. She watched in fascination as he nodded at the man at the piano. The song that the piano man played sounded vaguely familiar to her. "What is this song?" she asked. "I know I have heard it before."

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "You have heard it. It's our song, sweetheart."

Ginny's expression grew puzzled. "Now, I just don't understand. I've never been here before, and I certainly have never met you. How could this be our song?"

"You have been here, and you do know me," he whispered. "Look into my eyes, kid. It will all come back to you."

Curious, she did as she was told. Her warm, cinnamon eyes peered into his grey ones, trying to understand what he meant. She noticed that he had slowly led her away from the main room of the pub, but it didn't matter. It wasn't until his eyes left hers that it all came back.

"Draco, what are you doing to me?" Ginny asked, smacking him on the arm. "I just can't handle these games that you play. Why am I here again?"

"Because I summoned you, Ginny," he whispered, threading his fingers through her hair, loving the silky feeling of her red curls in his hands. "I needed to see you. I needed to, one more time."

"But, Draco, don't you understand how dangerous this is – for both of us?" she responded urgently, lightly pressing her forehead against his. "I'm so worried about you that I can't think."

"I know the risks, kid," he answered urgently, giving her a gentle shake for emphasis. "I know what we both have to lose here, but I'm selfish. I had to see you one more time, but this is it. You have to get out of England and go where it's safe."

Her eyes widened in anger and frustration. "And leave you here? Leave you to be one of them?"

"I'll be safe. Safer than you are."

"But I won't ever see you again, Draco!" she cried. "I can't let you go. You have to promise – promise me that you'll come back to me again, that you'll find me and we can be together. Please, this can't be the end!" Tears had already fallen down her flushing pink cheeks. "I love you."

Draco's eyes narrowed and he let out a noise of anger and frustration, a low rumble that only she could hear. "I won't make any promises, Ginny, especially ones that I can't keep, but _you can't stay here_. You need to get out of England."

"How am I supposed to go on with my life, then, knowing that we almost had it all?"

"You'll have to forget about it. Forget about me." He rolled his left sleeve up to his elbow, revealing the mark that she most feared. "Have you forgot who I am, what I've done? This will never work. You and I can never be."

"_No_," she whispered. "I won't leave you. I won't go."

His grey eyes remained cold as ever, but he never looked away. Quietly, almost inaudibly, he whispered, "_Obliviate_," and he watched as the light flashed in her eyes. He could sense her confusion and knew immediately that the memory charm had worked.

"Mister, I am not sure what you want from me, but I insist that you release me at once."

He released her, just as she had said, and watched as she exited the back room, her expression indignant. It wasn't that he wanted to do it, but he couldn't risk her. The less she knew, the better, and until she agreed to leave the country, it was not going to be safe for her.

The blond man looked down at his exposed left forearm, wishing he could hate the sight of it. But he didn't. Despite all of the excuses he had given her, it had still been his choice to receive it. It had always been about choices, and he had perpetually made the wrong ones. Perhaps if Ginny had come into his life sooner, maybe he would have been able to make better decisions.

But the fact was that she hadn't. This was him. The Death Eater, the bad guy.

He stared out at the city streets of London, thinking about her. She'd be back. She always came back, as soon as he wished it so. She would return, confused and disoriented, until she looked into his eyes. Everything would suddenly become clear, and it would always end the same. Memory charms, erasing this moment in time, dooming them to repeat it over and again. He was selfless enough to want her to get out of harm's way, but he was also selfish enough that he couldn't ever let her go completely. Another night would come, and she'd wander into his pub. He'd ask her to dance; the pianist would play their song. Only he would remember.

Ten years had gone by since she'd walked back into his life. Ten years since the Dark side had won the war. As time goes by, he realized, not a whole lot changes.

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**A/N**: It is entirely possible that I missed the point of the genre prompt, but I did try. I do want to state, though, that a great deal of the inspiration for this fic comes from _Casablanca_ and the episode of Boy Meets World, As Time Goes By, which was also inspired by the aforementioned film.


End file.
